This thread is for roleplaying non-combat scenarios when the D&D group isn't playing at the table. I will start first, with my character to set the tone.

Within the embrace of Winterhaven's walls, two men were arguing over the matters of coin and philosophy, attempting to convince the other that his way was right. Both were thick and hairy men, whose girth have defeated many a belt. They were merchants. One wore a beaver cap, while the other possessed a small winged being. She looked on impassively, silently as she hovered. Granted life but lacking the motivation, she was the servant of Sabin Hellgem, who often encountered his mercantile counterpart, Ganer Galdeon. Sharing many similarities, most people would have thought these two to be comrades. They were nothing of the sort, both parting ways with a fair bit of anger. But they were masters in their trade, quickly sliding smiles and cheerful laughter into place, as each scoped out marks for commerce.

The winged fairy, emotionless and as cold as the Winter night, was cloaked in her Master's illusion. Hidden away from people who otherwise would see her, she watched. Slowly but surely learning about the world around her. She is the Master's eyes, but wasn't wise enough to serve him. The master locked his gaze on a potential mark and chatted with him, discussing the sale of valuable goods. Promises were made, debts received. Soon, her master would seek out the adventurers that Ganer had mentioned, in search of profiting from their enterprise. However, that wasn't to say that he couldn't pull his weight. In the opinion of Sabin Hellgem, the best way to succeed in life was to have connections with people. That was one of the few things that he and Ganer agreed upon. For now, the fairy did not know what to think, because she couldn't think for herself.

It had been several days since the hobgoblin known as Irontooth had been defeated and the clan of local kobolds freed from his grasp. Gered occupied his time doing some odd jobs for the clan while his friends continued on toward the Keep. He would catch up with them soon enough, but the clan lacked certain resources and supplies better collected by larger beings - logs, barrels of river water and the like.

Gered felt an odd kinship with this ragtag group of kobolds. They were related in some distant way to the races of dragons yet not accepted by them as equals. In a similar way, so had Gered spent his youth among the dragonborn, never quite able to fully assimilate into the society. True that they had accepted him as one of the brothers, but physical differences don't simply give way to artificial bonds of family. Cabinets and shelves always a little too tall; surfaces rough and unpolished deliver splinters to human flesh that draconic scales repel. Human lungs that can never answer the fiery exhalations put you at a disadvantage every time.

Gered would of course never bemoan his upbringing. Many had far worse childhoods and his had at least taught him to match wits as often as steel. Still, it felt good to provide these kobolds with the benefits of a couple more feet of height and the ability to use a large axe - qualities taken for granted among the more civilized races worth their weight in gold among these little ones.

The sun turned orange and pink over the horizon. Day is ending. Tomorrow Gered would catch up with the others and begin his journey to that place where the brothers forbade him to follow - the Keep.

The Kobolds of this region call themselves the Flametooth Tribe. Their patron once lived near Shadowfell Keep, a young platinum dragon that watched over them. It was their responsibility to help her, but they failed. Many years ago, an army calling itself The Red Hand skirmished and penetrated the borders of the Nerath Empire. One of the several bastions of truth and justice that guarded civilization, Shadowfell Keep fell to darkness, claiming all who didn't flee the carnage. Platina fell to the horde, even as slaughter took place deep inside the keep. It was a sad day, leaving a scar in the kobolds of the Flametooth Tribe that won't be forgotten.

They fell far. No longer did they have a true master. All beings who were larger than them treated them as inferiors. What wealth they had couldn't be really spent. Such was the life of monsters in a world that hated the small and ugly. Still, the few beings who helped them were worth remembering, because these kobolds loathed the hateful life. Leading short existences, each kobold burned brightly before being extinguished by age, disease, and the other monsters that preyed upon them. As such, they enjoyed the company of anyone who wished to live as they did, through story, song, work, and the other pleasures of life. It is in this way that Gered was accepted by the kobolds, who formed and lost their bonds easily, because life was so short.

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